


Bright Red and Bolded

by pessimisticprose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drunken Shenanigans, Hangover, M/M, Tattoos, embarrassing tattoos, just crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pessimisticprose/pseuds/pessimisticprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't get to wake up in Vegas. Instead he gets to wake up with a tattoo on his ass. Which may or may not be the most embarrassing thing ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Red and Bolded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dani_Schomer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dani_Schomer/gifts).



> So...crack fic yes? Finally something without porn. Even thought it alludes to porn. Whoops?

Stiles makes the worst decision of his _life_ on the day after his twenty-first birthday. He’d been drunk before, but now that there isn’t someone from the pack to cut him off (Derek, Lydia, the usual), he’s just with Scott and his unending jaw and optimistic encouragement. Things that have kept Stiles going since kindergarten.

Anyway, the worst decision of his _life_. It’s dramatic. He’s completely smashed when he decided to...well...tattoo his ass.

***

“You didn’t,” Derek deadpans when he walks in the door to their apartment the next morning. They’ve been dating for a few years now and they bought a small apartment together twenty minutes outside of Beacon Hills. He looks at home on their couch, which is already comfortably worn from their Netflix dates every Wednesday night.

“I totally did,” Stiles says, ashamed with himself and no victory in his voice at all, because he _tattooed his ass_. “How can you tell?”

“I can smell the trace of blood. I’ve smelled tattoos on people before.” Derek sniffs the air. “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He’s way too hungover for this. He crashed at Scott’s place last night and promptly left early this morning before Kira found him in that bad of a state. At least Scott’s werewolf metabolism healed the wolfsbane hangover. Fucking werewolves.

“Did you have a good time?” Derek asks. He already has coffee brewing by the stove and Stiles has never loved him more.

“Yeah. It was a lot of fun. I haven’t had a good bro night with Scott in a long time.” He sits down at the kitchen island and there’s a sudden burning sensation on his ass. Stiles yawns and did he mention he _woke up at six so Kira didn’t find them_? He’s such a good friend so he doesn’t put Scotty in the doghouse. Although, being a werewolf, that may be funny. He’s imagining Derek crouched in a little doghouse and with a collar on when–

Too early for collar imagery. Backing that train of thought up right fucking now.

“And Scott convinced you to get a tattoo?” Derek hands Stiles a mug of coffee and Stiles makes a noise that’s a cross between an amazing orgasm and death.

“Yeah, but I don’t even remember what I picked, honestly.” Stiles takes a big gulp and sighs. “Dude, it’s probably super embarrassing. It’s not like Scott could ask the guy to fucking blowtorch a tattoo on him, so he didn’t even fucking get one, the dick.” Stiles rubs his temples and when he opens his eyes there are two Tylenols sitting beside his coffee mug. “I love you so much,” he groans and takes the pills. “I wish you came with us last night. Maybe you’d have kept me on the dance floor all night instead of drinking. Legally, might I add.”

Derek chuckles and it hits Stiles right in the stomach. Every time Derek laughs it just makes him want to hug him and never let go. It just makes him think of how much he’s changed since the days when they chased kanimas and fought Alpha packs. Derek’s gone through so much since he was a teenager, it’t not even fair. He’s such a great person and he’s _trying_. He’s trying to get better, be a better Alpha, a better person. And Jesus, even a better boyfriend, even though he’s already the best one _ever_.

Stiles finishes his coffee and excuses himself to shower. When he gets into their huge bathroom he immediately looks at his ass. He could feel the dull pain the entire time he sat and he just _knew_ the tattoo was on his ass.

“Oh my fucking god!” he cries when he sees it. “Why me?” He looks at the ceiling. “I’ve been a good person! I only kill things that try to kill me first.”

Derek knocks on the door. Oh yeah, werewolf hearing. “Stiles? You okay?”

“No!” Stiles nearly shrieks. “I’m never having sex ever again if this thing is exposed.”

“Stiles,” Derek huffs through the wood separating them. It’s his weird mix of stop-being-dramatic and a laugh. He’s quite good at it and Stiles has helped him perfect it over the years. He can be a handful sometimes, like _now_ for instance. “It can’t be that bad. Unless it’s like Scott’s face or something. Did the tattoo artist get the jaw right?”

“It’s not Scott’s face!” Stiles says in anguish. “Go away. I have to wallow.”

“It really can’t be that bad.”

Stiles almost cries. He can feel literal sobs about to burst out. “You don’t even know. Go away.”

“I’m going to make eggs,” Derek grumbles and Stiles hears him stalk off.

“I can’t believe I did this,” Stiles whines to himself.

He has ‘Property of Derek Hale’ permanently stamped on his ass in bright fucking red. It is not his day.

***

“C’mon, let me see it. Please. I won’t tell anyone,” Lydia begs.

“It’s on my ass, Lydia. No.”

She whines–being denied something she wants is always hard on her–and pouts her full lips on the webcam. Lydia is all the way across the country at MIT, but her and Stiles have Skype dates twice a week. Sometimes more during midterms or finals, just to study together in silence like how they did in high school.

“What, is it _that_ embarrassing?”

“I haven’t showed Derek yet,” Stiles admits softly. Lydia only knows what it says because she forced Stiles to message what it said to her.

She hisses in sympathy. “You should show him. I bet he’d get a kick out of it.”

“I’m hanging up on you.” With that, Stiles slams the laptop shut.

Derek is standing in the doorway, towel around his waist and nothing else. Even now, Stiles’ throat gets dry when he sees Derek naked. He will _never_ get used to him. Ever. He makes some kind of pathetic noise and throws himself onto the bed.

“Seriously?” Stiles mutters. “Trying to seduce me to see the tattoo.”

“I bet it’s sexy,” Derek says, suddenly right behind Stiles, pressed up against him and mouthing at his throat.

“Oh, it’s something all right,” Stiles mumbles. “Fine, if you want to see it so bad, find it.”

“Hm. It’s not like I don’t know it’s not right here,” he brushes a hand against Stiles’ ass, right where his tattoo is. “You don’t sit on it completely, yet. You lean slightly to the left.”

“My life,” Stiles says. He turns his head and Derek is right beside his shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his shoulder blades. “Fine.” He turns on his stomach and wiggles out of his pants. Derek’s eyes bleed red at the edges of his irises when he realizes Stiles isn’t wearing any underwear.

“Counterproductive to lay on your back, isn’t it?” Derek teases against the hollow of his throat.

“You have to promise you’re not going to laugh. And remember, I was beyond intoxicated. I can’t believe that guy let me get a tattoo in the state I was in.”

“You’re a coherent drunk,” Derek offers. He runs his hands up Stiles’ sides and says, “I promise not to make fun of you.”

Stiles holds out his pinky, which makes Derek roll his eyes, but he clasps their pinkies together anyway. With a really deep breath, Stiles rolls onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow and wondering how much pressure it would take to suffocate himself. He hears Derek exhale and then Derek’s hand is right over the tattoo, gently rubbing his thumb over it.

“Jesus,” Derek says with a husky voice. He clears his throat and says, “I like it.”

“Of course you do, you creepy wolf-man.” Stiles starts to roll back around, but Derek holds him in place so he can continue to look at Stiles’ ass.

“Do you mean just your ass or you in general?” Derek asks.

“What?”

“Being my property. Is that just your ass?”

And oh, Stiles gets it now. Derek likes Stiles having a permanent mark on him, stating he’s Derek’s. He likes knowing that Stiles will always be his. It’s part of the possessive side of the wolf, but Derek can sometimes be possessive, too. Derek wants to own him, and this is practically like a deed to Stiles.

“Nope, just me,” Stiles says. “I didn’t need a tattoo for you to know that, though.”

“It’s a nice touch that it’s bright red,” Derek says with a smirk.

Stiles gasps. “Traitor! No sex for a week!”

“Oh really?” Derek challenges with a well-placed roll of his hips and a raised eyebrow.

“After this, you fucker.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me on tumblr 
> 
> pessimisticprose 
> 
> Read my bad fic about anime boys and cry with me over stuff


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